As the snow flies
On a cold and gray Chicago mornin'
A poor little baby child is born
In the ghetto
And his mama cries
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, and a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need, the people will waken and listen to hear
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow